


Eight Summers

by mygiantoflannister



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aegon's Academy Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mygiantoflannister/pseuds/mygiantoflannister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In their lives after high school, Sansa and Sandor use the summers to stay together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Summers

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the "SanSan in a Long Distance Relationship AU" prompt on Tumblr!
> 
> This takes place in the same universe as Aegon's Academy, more or less.

Summers were easy. In the summer, she lived in Kennebunkport, and it was not such a long way from there to Boston—on a good day, she could make the trip in under an hour and a half.  And in the fall, well, in the fall it would be harder, but Duke was only nine hours away.  Nine hours. Nine hours was good for a road trip, and surely there would be breaks and long weekends and times for him to come back to see her.  It would be hard, she knew that, but summers would be easy. 

Their first summer, she was half a mermaid and half a city mouse.  Every other weekend, he would drive up to Kennebunkport and they would go to the beach (Maine summers weren’t the warmest, but they sure were the prettiest) and eat (lobster, lobster, lobster rolls, and the occasional clam) and kiss (lots of kissing, not that either of them minded).  On the other weekends, she would drive down to Boston and they would explore the city (the Red Sox weren’t terrible this season, and if that wasn’t a sign from the gods, she didn’t know what was—though a sign for what she wasn’t quite sure) and eat (baked beans and cream pies and the occasional lobster roll—this was still New England, after all) and kiss (lots of kissing, not that either of them minded).  During the weeks, Sandor worked and Sansa slept.  They were happy.  Summers were easy.

That fall, the Red Sox won the World Series and everything was going well.  Tufts wanted her to row for them (not everyone was first boat, captain of the crew team at a prestigious boarding school, after all). She managed to sneak away for a weekend during Christmas Break and he told her to go—no matter that she’d be in Boston all the times he wasn’t, no matter that Boston to Durham was an eleven hour drive on a good day.  None of that mattered, he told her.  He loved her and she loved him, he was hers and she was his, and besides, they had the summers. Summers were easy.

The next three summers were beautifully full but tantalizingly short.  The Red Sox were doing well, but they didn’t win (no one minded; they couldn’t be expected to win _every_ year—they weren’t the Yankees, after all).  The fifth summer, she and Margaery decided not to go home (Margaery was at BC, her dream school), and instead rented an apartment in Boston for the summer. He’d graduated from Duke, and with the whole summer stretched out before them (followed by the promise of seeing him more, now that college was over and he was back in Boston full time), they were the happiest they’d been since those golden days at Aegon’s (underappreciated and gone-too-soon, but golden all the same).  The Red Sox won that fall, and again she wondered if it was a sign.

She graduated the next spring, with flying colors and an acceptance to medical school at Stanford. He told her to go—his little bird was flying away, but that was to be expected, and who was he to stop her? That first summer after she started at Stanford was easy, but in the fall the Red Sox lost in the playoffs. A disheartening loss, of course, but the real trouble came when she didn’t come home the next summer, or the summer after that.  The Red Sox were back to their usual losing streak, and he wondered if it was a sign, if their happiness was determined by the fate of the Red Sox.

California is beautiful, you’d love it, come out here!  Were her constant chirps; the little bird had finally found the right place to make her nest. He wanted to go but felt trapped. The East Coast was all he knew. How could he leave? He couldn’t.

She came home for two weeks in August to visit her family and take Margaery back to California with her. She came down to Boston the day before her plane left to see him, and he knew this wasn’t going to be like their usual visits.

“I think,” she began, tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes, “I think that maybe it’s time we ended this.”

He was ready to agree, to go lightly, but why should he?  He _loved_ her goddammit, and he knew she loved him, and that was something he’d never dared to hope for.  “I understand, little bird, but I don’t agree. I _will_ fight for us.”

“Sandor…” her voice trailed off. She didn’t want this to end either, didn’t he know that?  She loved him, she loved him so much, more than she’d ever expected to.  They’d come a long way from the first day they met, back when she was Joffrey’s and she couldn’t even meet Sandor’s eyes. Was it worth it to throw the last eight years away?

“We can figure something out,” he pleaded.  He, Sandor Clegane, was pleading. A lot had changed in the past eight years.  “Maybe if you could just come home next summer.  Summers are easy.”

“No,” she said sadly, unable to meet his eyes, “Summers _were_ easy.”

The next day she and Margaery left for California, and she tried not to look back.  That fall, the Red Sox won the World Series. So much for fate.


End file.
